TCOT Day They Met
by DNPLC
Summary: How did Della Street come to work for Perry Mason? This is how I envision it-chose the date based on Della's "over 40" years comment in TCOT Defiant Daughter, 1990.
1. Chapter 1

I have tried very hard to write to the characters and their personalities, imagining _what_ they say but not _how_ they might say it. Also, I've tried to keep to the facts as they have been set down for us in the show and TV movies, even where they are contradictory and, in some places, are they ever!

_**Monday, May 2**__**nd**__**, 1949, 7:30AM**_

The City of Angels was meant for driving and Della Street loved cars, in particular her cream-colored rag top roadster. When it nestled into a curve, the back end rising ever so slightly as she hit the gas, she felt an incredible sense of control.

Behind the wheel in her big dark glasses, the wind ruffling her curls Della lit a cigarette. Drivers and passengers looked twice thinking she was a movie star on her way to the studio—and she could have been. Since coming to this town as a college freshman, Hollywood had discovered her all over the place: on campus, at court, in restaurants, at nightclubs, even the Laundromat and pharmacy. Each time Della politely laughed it off.

Traffic was snarled on Wiltshire Boulevard so she used the time to review talking points not covered on her resume. Since graduating pre-law with a minor in art six years ago, Della Street had been working her way up in various law firms as a legal secretary, attending law school classes when she had the time and the money. This next job was an important step, particularly if she wasn't going to finish law school, which seemed increasingly likely.

Never again would she subject herself to the Bascombs of the world; attorneys who feigned interest in her skills but harbored unscrupulous desires.It was demoralizing; especially for a young woman, who wanted to work, wanted to excel at what she did.

And when, you had to ask yourself, was enough, enough? Steady, she thought as she started to tremble. Minutes from her much-anticipated interview a crying jag simply would not do.

"C'mon, sugar!" Ruthlessly a car horn shocked Della out of her ennui sending her through the green light.

Months of meticulous research on Los Angeles law firms turned up only three firms in which she was interested; and only one for which she actually _wanted_ to work. Della wanted to do… _more. _Now what more was she couldn't say exactly but it had led her to the office of Perry Mason. Only five years older than she, he already had a reputation for brilliant, unorthodox defense strategies and an ability to know exactly where the wiggle room was within the law.

Clients paid any amount for his services since he always won his cases; _if_ the case even got to trial, quite often it was dismissed in pre-trial motions. Mason's brashness, exploited in lurid and plentiful newspaper accounts, frequently left him on the wrong side of the Los Angeles Police Department. But while he may have skirted the law he never broke it. Perry Mason's mantra was that an innocent client was worth whatever his attorney needed to do to prove that innocence. Della had to admit there was little valid counter-argument.

Since this was Hollywood appearance was vital and it didn't hurt that Mason and his lead investigator Paul Drake had matinee idol good looks. Inevitably this led to numerous appearances in the society pages and gossip columns, where they were forever trying to entangle Perry Mason with some starlet. Della reasoned she would therefore be well under his radar in that regard.

In the office of Perry Mason, Della Street knew that she would find excitement.

First, of course, she had to find the office.

The Brent Building, an impressive new high rise, stood on Hill near 4th Street. With .50 she thanked the parking attendant, hoping it would make him _more_ attendant and rode up the elevator to the 18th floor. Ducking around the corner where she spied a mirror, she gave herself a final once over.

While her resume made her supremely confident, Della Street was sensitive to the outer woman as well. A pencil skirt in pale pink with a fitted waist flaunted her slender figure and shapely legs. Beneath the matching jacket with its voluminous A-line hem and long, full sleeves, was a high collared white shirt also with long full sleeves. The heels towered but it was just an interview, she wouldn't be in them that long. Removing her Cashmere Bouquet lipstick in "Pink-A-Boo" and her compact Della reapplied her lips, blotted then tucked the pink-tinged Kleenex into her purse. _Now_ she was ready.

Perry Mason's offices put her instantly at ease; not because they were particularly good-looking rather because they had stunning lines and a bright, modern feel. Taking off her new white gloves and slapping them in her hand she happily took in the surroundings. Absent were the heavy wood paneled walls, chipped leather chairs and moth-eaten Orientals of Bascomb with its rickety, hoary men reeking of scotch. In their place Della Street, if hired, would place sleek, contemporary pieces that were efficient and attractive, warm colored textiles and walls, fascinating art, and lustrous carpeting.

There were a few surprises for her, though. Della Street did not expect to find the utter bedlam and fevered commotion of a civilization's breakdown. People were milling aimlessly, phones were ringing interminably, there was no sound of typing— unheard of in a law office— and clients were sitting around unhappily considering their watches.

"Gertie!" a man boomed over the intercom. "What is going on out there?"

Gertie's lower lip was trembling. "Well, Mr. Mason I don't know really." When phone interrupted, she accidentally hung up on him.

Mason barreled through the door and smack into Della Street. "Forgive me, Miss…" Overwhelmed with work and an incompetent staff, Perry Mason almost didn't notice her striking beauty—almost.

"Secretary?" he barked at her accusingly. Thoroughly amused she answered, "Yes, Mr. Mason, I'm…"

"Late."

"On the contrary I am, as always, rather early," the smile on this earnest young woman seemed out of place, as if she was…laughing at him?

"I asked for someone to come at 7, it is now 7:45," he insisted.

"Well…I was told to be here at 8AM and here I am." With her arms crossed in front of her and her head titled to the side that smile still on her face, she went toe-to-toe with the young but already eminent attorney.

Perry Mason was about to answer her when the young woman he called Gertie knocked a stack of files off the corner of her desk. Smoothly Perry stuck a hand in his pocket and turned to her, "Well, do what you can. I'll call you for dictation and meetings."

At 12:30 Perry Mason emerged from his office eyes wide with surprise. The entire room had been re-arranged in a remarkably fluid design. Gertie was _calmly_ fielding phone calls in the professional manner for which he had longed, quick but not brusque, pleasant but not _obsequious_. Miraculously, the typist had whittled the stack in half, although she was blonde now. Another young woman was shuttling back and forth between the front and the law library with her head buried in a book, which accounted for her walking straight into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry!"

"Quite alright young lady. Who might you be?"

"Well, I might Rita Hayworth but sadly I'm Peggy Carmichael," she shoved her glasses back up her tiny nose. "I'm your new intern."

"I have an intern?" Perry said thoroughly amused by the petite, be-speckled raggedy-Ann with a mop of ginger curls.

"I'm second year USC Law and just happened to be working in the office when your secretary rang and said you needed help. She asked me to post a note on the bulletin board," standing on her tip toes she whispered conspiratorially, "But I didn't! I came right over! Well, you're behind so I'm behind."

Perry grinned as Raggedy-Ann bounced away. Della Street was smiling broadly at both the adorable student she had hired, and the thoroughly pleased look on Perry Mason's face. Returning to his office, he tried to surreptitiously manage a quick glimpse of the lovely young woman sitting just outside his office. But she winked at him!

By 2:30 Della had queried Perry about lunch three times. This time when he didn't answer she put her hands on her hips in frustration. Della was not to be trifled with when it came to food and unless she got something to eat soon she was going to turn into a puddle. When Perry Mason's stomach rumbled during dictation she stifled a laugh went to her desk and placed a call to the little restaurant she had noticed on her way in that morning—this morning…it seemed like a lifetime ago she realized.

After the delivery boy left she managed a couple of forks and plates, putting their lunch together at the conference table by the terrace. Not even the delectable aromas deterred the earnest attorney until she flashed the thick, hot, steak sandwich, potato salad, and coffee in front of him, actually plucking the papers from his hands. Lifting his head to meet her gaze, his enormous blue eyes were filled with gratitude and, unless she couldn't read men, genuine warmth.

Smiling, Della Street cocked her head and sat down next to him on the end of his desk, continuing her research. Throughout lunch they traded questions and answers with an effortless cadence. After he had devoured everything but the plate she caught him looking longingly at the other half of her chicken salad club with bacon, lettuce and tomato. Quietly she slid her plate towards him and out of the corner of her eye watched his dimples deepen.

They worked well into the evening in companionable silence interrupted only for meetings, which she recorded with rapid shorthand and sent off to the typist or stenographer to transpose. Throughout the day an undeniable rhythm had emerged between them. Impressed by her mind Perry asked more and more frequently for an opinion on this case, that brief, a bit of courtroom trickery or a potential client they had just interviewed. Repeatedly he found himself raising his eyebrows in delight at the cases she sited and her natural insight into human nature. Perry himself also possessed that gift, although his ran in a very different and complimentary direction.

For her part, Della Street knew that she had found a home. Since the Mason office had devolved so swiftly into an apocalypse in the absence of his secretary, Della knew the infrastructure must have been lacking. In between all of the work in his office—where admittedly she much preferred to be—she rearranged the entire outer offices so they would operate at maximum efficiency, her life's blood.

After ordering very necessary missing office supplies (how she loved buying office supplies, it was better than jewelry) and a couple pieces of intercom equipment meant to prevent Gertie from disconnecting her boss, Della tackled what could only loosely described as a filing system.

Then there was the staff, which near as she could tell, was a lovely if haphazard band of mismatched socks. Gertie wasn't a terribly _complex_ girl but seemed to want to learn. As gently as possible, Della corrected her phone manner, taught her to greet new clients and, in time, would have her running the front part of this office. Another part-time secretary/receptionist required similar instruction plus some help tightening up her shorthand skills.

As there was no "fixing" the typist so she had fired her immediately and hired a girl from her old steno pool who boasted 71 WPM. Della hoped the lovesick law clerk would follow her and leave, but in the meantime she corrected the misconception he had of his job. Then there was little Peggy, number three in her class at UCLA Law and a stroke of genius on her part. Satisfied with the outer offices she ducked back into the inner sanctum where she was happiest.

An hour later, twilight danced into the office as Della exited the law library arms stretched with books. Perry Mason had noticed the moment her scent reinvigorated the room, watching her intently as she stood by the window serenely gazing at the burnished sky.

Taking the books from her arms he set them on the table, "You can step out there if you'd like." Holding the door for her, a slight grin curled the edge of his lips when she met his gaze. "I know I could use some air."

Della walked to the rail to watch the lights flickering on in buildings across Los Angeles. Perry Mason stepped behind her and she felt her jacket, which had been over a chair in his office, fall gently around her shoulders.

"Why thank you," there was that mischievous smile again. Perry returned the smile and nodded.

Lighting two cigarettes he handed her one, which he immediately realized was entirely too intimate. Laying her hand over his she took it from him. Neither of them said anything, lost in their own private reveries.

The sky changed colors in waves and when at last the poppy-colored sun had melted into the Hollywood Hills, he heard the faintest sigh escape her beautiful lips. Della walked to the door giving Perry a dazzling smile as he held her elbow, and once having stepped through the looking glass they were studiously back at work. Perry took Della's jacket to the coat rack while she went out to check on the outer offices.

"_Whelp_," laughed Della as she slid back into her seat. "All is quiet with the Mason Chain Gang."

Perry guffawed. "That was a miracle you performed." Della just smiled, fluttering her lashes, making Perry smile. "That's not the same typist, right? Or am I losing my mind?"

"Well, I can't speak for your mind, boss, but you see that stack of typed pages on the right hand corner of your desk?" Della's arms were crossed, her chin indicating the 3-inch high pile. "When was the last time you saw that much get typed around here?"

Perry dutifully nodded. "I'm not losing my mind. Well…" Della made her exit laughing, bowing slightly as she pulled the door behind her in an exaggerated way. He was fast realizing that he loved the way she did… _everything_. There was a rare mix of qualities about her that he hadn't quite parsed, yet, but the combination was both singular and intoxicating.

Della returned to the library but was having trouble concentrating, unusual for her. There was a heady connection between her and this man that she neither wanted nor anticipated. In the many times that she had been in love, or imagined herself to be so, she had never experienced such feelings for someone and she suspected that she wasn't alone in this.

An austere man who seemed to show little emotion, Perry Mason was warm with her, and seemed to enjoy laughing as much as she did. There was something else though something that touched her deeply about him and that was his quite obvious vulnerability. The safety of his innocent clients was paramount to him; his theatrics, she could see now, were specifically designed to out the truth not to be dramatic.

The few little things that she had done for him today, getting and then making him eat his lunch _and_ hers, bringing him coffee, extra notes and research for cases and giving him aspirin when he rubbed his forehead, had elicited such gratitude in his eyes, words and smile. This, very clearly, was a man unused to being looked after and it made her hurt a bit for him.

A romantic but also a pragmatist, Della had ever believed in love at first sight—until today.

When Perry finally took his eyes from the brief he noticed it was pitch dark outside. Exhausted he was never-the-less heartened by how well the day had gone—for the first time since he opened his own practice two years prior. As the door from his library opened, there she stood, conical light shining behind her, looking as fresh as she had when she walked in that morning at 8am…well, 7:45.

"The two subpoenas are ready to go," she remarked casually.

"Thank you." Perry tried not to "study" her but couldn't help himself.

Her dark curls were…_mussed_ was the only word he could think of (not that he ever thought of that kind of thing) and her cheeks were flushed behind the stack of law books she held. Also, she seemed somehow… shorter. Looking down at her feet he noticed perfectly manicured pink toes in silk stockings that had long ago shed their shoes.

Suddenly Perry Mason laughed out loud, making Della start. When she saw him looking down, her sexy, throaty laugh poured out of her. "I'm sorry!"

Mason looked down at her, her eyes turned up to him, lips pursed in a smile. "I don't know how women wear those things to begin with but boy they look..." Embarrassed he stopped as she started to apologize again. Putting his hand up, he tried to rescue them both, a wide grin still on his face. "No, it really is fine."

"Well, here you are, Chief," a stream of breath escaped from of the corner of her mouth rattling the curls that hung on the right side of her forehead. Putting a fist on her hip and crossing one leg in front of the other she leaned on the corner of the desk.

In each book over, a long slip of paper with detailed annotations in her lovely writing marked each pertinent case. Perry scanned each one quickly, nodding. There were also detailed notes about cases for which he had not asked and extremely insightful points that had occurred to her as she researched.

Outwardly he tried to remain calm, acting as if her performance was nothing more than he expected. Inwardly he was thrilled. This was the third case she had expertly researched, while also rearranging the entire place, recording perfect notes during six meetings and straightening out the rest of the staff in an unerringly kind but firm manner that he caught while eavesdropping.

Smart, brilliant even, he marveled at her concrete knowledge of the law. This was no ordinary secretary or, for that matter, woman. Lithesome, with warmth that radiated from within, she had the loveliest face he had ever seen. For a man who specialized in details it shocked him that she had toiled for him for over 15 hours without him knowing so much as her first name, and yet, this mystery gave her an dreamlike quality.

"Gertie," he called on the intercom as he watched her slip back into her heels, an almost imperceptible wince escaping her lips, "Whatever happened to the interview with the legal secretary today?"

"Gee, I don't know Mr. Mason. I guess…mmm… Miss Street it says here, I guess she never showed up." Della bit her lower lip, a smirk on her lovely face.

Standing, Perry held the other chair at his desk for her. "Thank you."

Trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice, Perry turned to her, "I know that you're just supposed to be here for the day but if you're interested in a full-time job I need a confidential secretary who is also a legal secretary, Miss…."

"You'd better take a look at my resume first…" she reached into her black patent Marc Cross, smiling in eager anticipation of the denouement.

Mason leaned into the intercom once again. "Gertie, phone this Miss Street immediately and inform her that her interview will not be re-scheduled; the position has been filled."

"Yes, Mr. Mason…Umm, Mr. Mason?"

"Yes," he sighed impatiently into the intercom.

"Well…" There was only silence.

"What is it?" he barked.

"Sir it's after 11…"

"Go home, Gertie. Call her tomorrow if she doesn't call first."

Mason looked at what he could only hope was his new secretary. "I'm sorry I didn't realize…"

Della looked him in the eye, nodding her head at the intercom. With his finger still on the button and his mouth agape, Perry Mason looked quizzically from the intercom back to Della who nodded towards it once more.

"Nice… job today…Gertie." When Della smiled warmly at him, he felt as if he had just been awarded a gold star in school.

It may have come out sounding a bit like a question but Gertie was happy to take the compliment hidden in it. "Gee… thanks Mr. Mason," she sounded as if she might cry. "See you tomorrow…bright and early!"

"Bright and…early then…"

Della gave a slight approving nod as she handed him her resume. When their hands brushed Perry Mason tried desperately to ignore the current that passed between them but that was impossible, as the other hand would have concurred. In seconds, he smiled in a way she hadn't yet seen—all his teeth showing, a little crooked hitch on the left side of his mouth that was adorable.

"Why didn't you say anything?" All Perry Mason could do was shake his head and laugh, those arctic glaciers he had for eyes melting into warm blue pools.

Della was laughing now, too, in part to cover her incredible attraction to her new boss. "You Counselor, were in need of help. I thought the best thing to do was just pitch in. I wanted this job very much and what better way to get it?" Perry Mason nodded, still laughing. Della was struck by how different, boyish almost, he looked when he smiled.

"Besides, I was anticipating this moment—just didn't know how long you'd make me wait for it!" Della rolled her eyes looking at her watch.

"We were expecting a temp, I just assumed…" he tried but it was too late to take it back.

"You assumed, Counselor?" One eyebrow jumped so high it hit her widow's peak, her smile at once teasing and generous.

Perry couldn't help but notice the familiarity between them, the ease. He had slept with plenty of women with whom he didn't feel as comfortable. During the day it had been a shadow at the back of his preoccupied mind; their rhythm as they talked throwing ideas back and forth, moving seamlessly from one task to another.

At one point, just after lunch, Perry noticed that he had almost stopped needing words to communicate with her. This woman seemed to know what he needed before he knew and he knew that she was going to give him what he needed before he asked.

"Would you like to examine the witness, Counselor?" Perry realized he hadn't even been reading the resume. Taking a new box of chocolates from the console behind him, he removed the top pushing the box her way as he read.

"Mm, chocolate; holding out on me, Counselor?" Perry laughed. "Let's see…caramel…"

"Good. I like crunchy," he declared, tapping a square of chocolate for her to take.

"Figures," she teased. "We can negotiate the cream-filled on an as-need basis," continuously amused by this creature and their chemistry he could not stop grinning at her.

"Alright, young lady…down to business. Why did you leave Bascomb, Brady and Talmadge after just 6 months?"

"Because it wasn't my _secretarial_ skills they were after." He nodded but could see there was more—a lot more. His eyes never left hers. Della hesitated, chewing her candy slowly but Perry continued to wait, keenly watching her.

Della who endeavored always to keep things light, who never shared her pain with anyone, was soon telling him as tactfully as possible about her near-rape. Bascomb, drunk, asked Della to stay late for dictation, then attacked her after she spurned his advances. When she went to gather her things from her desk, Bascomb snuck up behind her and pushed her against the filing cabinet were she fought him until she could get her hands on a piece of bric-a-brac to open his skull.

Della stopped talking and although Perry knew there was more he didn't push. Years later, when Bascomb called for representation, he got the details. All that Perry Mason had to hear was how Bascomb ripped her skirt while holding her prone over the filing cabinet from behind and the bastard wasn't even through the office doors before he was laid out on the carpet. After the first punch Paul struggled to hold back his raging friend; anyone who made Perry Mason that mad Paul reasoned, must have _really_ have had it coming.

Perry was at a loss to explain it but Della's pain hurt him, too. "Bascomb belongs in jail. We could go after them…" he said, his deep voice grown angrier and his eyes dark and glowing with rage, the deeply furrowed brow ageing him 20 years.

"Of course not," she still managed a smile, though a sad one, "And you know that, Perry. Not without them ruining me with salacious lies."

Perry pushed the box of candy back toward her as she peered over the edge, investigating. He tapped another square chocolate. Lips curved in a tight smile she reached in, hesitating until he raised his eyebrows and nodded. Della Street had called him by his first name the miracle was that it emerged so naturally from her lips.

Clearing his throat, thick with uninvited emotion, Perry continued reading. Thrown in with steno pool entries and secretarial work was a shock that suddenly explained her incredible work today. "Of course; first in your class at the end of your second semester at USC Law School. Why did you leave?"

"The short answer is I ran out of money."

"Do you take me for a 'short answer' kind of man?"

Della snorted at that. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe their instant connection, but this imposing figure known to be cold, domineering, humorless and difficult had shown her nothing but softness, his deep voice rendering her a bit too truthful…and a bit woozy.

"Dad wanted me living next door with my high school sweetheart, raising his grandchildren. Paying for law school after four years of college was not going to happen, so…" Della trailed off happily inspecting the chocolates again.

As she was about to reach for the "wrong" candy he playfully slapped her hand. Della jumped and began to laugh. In mock disapproval Perry pointed to another square chocolate, which she snatched as she cocked her head and tossed him a warm smile.

"So, your father felt he had to throw impediments your way," Mason finished her sentence.

"Well said Counselor." Della stood and moved to the console to pour coffee for them, black, with one sugar for him.

"I take it black with…" but when he looked back she was letting the teaspoon of sugar slowly fall from the spoon, lips pursed in a sly grin.

"It is indeed a man's world," Perry said matter-of-factly, as she set the coffee down.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be; not all of the time anyway," she sat back in the chair across from him with a pensive smile. "Maybe it's all in what you want and how you do it."

"If I can be of any service..."

"I believe that you can, Counselor," nesting her cup in its saucer. "Let the negotiations begin."

Perry Mason was a bit shocked. "Well, insurance, of course and I pay…"

But she cut him off laughing. "You're known as an extremely generous employer." Someone had done her research, he noted, which gave him an idea of his own and he doodled Paul Drake's name on the pad in front of him.

Della's eyes were wide and she was sitting on the edge of her seat. "I know that you don't have an ordinary law firm, not that a criminal attorney's practice is ever ordinary. Your methods are … unorthodox but then, so are your results. You run on the edge; it pays off."

There were those eyes again. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, "Well add court, obviously, to what you did today, plus you get the unenviable task of handling all of the money. And then there are, oh, let's call them errands…" he drew it out wanting to give her the excitement she clearly craved. "I'll have plenty of _errands_ for cases, things by the way that may only be incidentally, even accidentally …_legal_."

"You get into some close shaves, you and your ace detective Paul Drake," she said glancing down at his pad. She had caught him. "Seems like you need a girl to round out the act; after all, there are some things only a girl can do. And I, Mr. Mason, am a very handy girl to have around."

"You, Miss Street, have already made that quite clear."

They were smiling at one another when Paul Drake busted in. "Perry listen… Wow!" he stopped dead in his tracks and with enormous eyes stared at Della Street, starting at her legs and moving his gaze steadily up. Della looked at Perry answering his amusement with her own.

"Why thank you, sir!" Della stood with a flourish and bowed with her hand outstretched.

Perry Mason laughed at the cheek of the girl. "Paul Drake this is Miss Della Street. Miss Street will be my confidential and legal secretary, as well as managing my office starting…"

"Tomorrow," answering his gaze while sliding her hand out to Paul.

"Tomorrow," Mason nodded brightly not even trying to contain his pleasure.

"Well, things are sure looking up around here," he kissed her hand then stole her coffee and plunked down in a nearby chair, throwing his leg over the arm. "Now Miss Street, I'd like you to pay special attention to my invoices when they arrive. Hey, this is great coffee! In return I will take you to dinner at your earliest convenience; just to thank you, of course, in advance for your attention to this matter."

"Gee…" she clicked her tongue and wagged her head sideways, "I'm afraid you're going to have to take that up with my boss. He alone assigns my duties and he alone decides on their priority. Isn't that right, Chief?" Standing with her hand on her hip and her legs crossed one in front of the other, she bit her lip enjoying Paul's crestfallen look. Della felt immediately as if she had gained a big brother.

Perry smiled triumphantly at Paul. In one deft maneuver this clever girl had given him one-up bragging rights, which were sadly important to men, showed where her loyalty lay _and _thwarted Paul's flirtation with grace and humor.

Snickering, Paul shot Perry an envious glance then acted like a little boy who just got sent to the corner, "Well, I don't care. I'm still going to enjoy having you around beautiful, for any number of reasons!"

With that Paul stood, stubbed out his cigarette and bid them good-night. Della looked at Perry and shook her head laughing. "There goes the wondering boy, out into the dark Los Angeles night. Look out, ladies!"

Perry laughed. "Okay, young lady; it's our turn."

Della's eyebrows shot to her widow's peak again, which Perry hated to admit he was starting to love. "But we have so much to do! By the way, may I redecorate the offices?"

"Do you have any idea how much you've already done? And I think you mean 'decorate.' I just wanted to get the doors open last year. But sure that would be great," he said looking around.

"In the meantime it's almost midnight and we're leaving. Trust me, someday you're going to look back on this night, Miss Street," pausing Perry saw the same pensive look on Della's lovely face that he knew he was wearing on his own. "And … you're going to appreciate that once upon a time, long, long ago, I spirited you from the office before the stroke of midnight." He took her elbow gently.

"'Spirited me…' but my car is in the…"

"Miss Street, will you be arguing with me a great deal?" he was smirking now, enjoying her.

Pursing her lips, which then opened into a wide smile she tipped her head to the side and nodded in the affirmative. "You know, Counselor, I do believe that I will."

"Good. Let's go," Perry helped her into her jacket then took her arm.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Tuesday, May 5**__**th**__**, 12:05AM**_

In the garage Perry Mason literally put Della Street in the car, climbing in himself after. "Where to mademoiselle?"

After Della gave her new boss her address he realized that they hadn't eaten since the afternoon. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm ravenous," admitted Della, which was, in fact, an understatement.

"How about we swing by Musso & Frank's and I buy you a quick steak?"

"Steeaaak…" Della dropped her head back, making her boss laugh. "Do I get potatoes, too?"

"Miss Street, what is a steak without a potato?"

"Lonely!" They both laughed.

With an arm under hers, Perry directed Della to follow the maître d', who had welcomed him warmly. Greeting a waiter he held up two fingers as he passed the bartender. When the Gibson's were delivered Della was incredulous, "How did you know?"

"Well you _look_ like a Gibson girl," he chuckled as Della dropped her chin down and looked up through her eyelashes.

"To our new partnership," Perry said, slightly self-conscious of the possible weight of those words.

After they touched glasses, Della considered her drink a moment before imbibing. "Our partnership," she echoed softly.

When the waiter came for their order, Della nodded in deference to her companion who ordered Caesar salad for two, two rib eyes, rare, with Lyonnaise potatoes—Perry looked her way to ensure that met with her approval—sautéed mushrooms and onions and green beans. Once out in the world and sated, their fatigue vanished. Dinner lingered ending with floating islands, coffee and finally brandy.

Perry Mason had learned a great deal about his new secretary and, uncharacteristically, had offered a great deal about his own life. They were exactly five years apart, although she seemed older than 27, he couldn't say why. The protective wall she had reverberated in her startlingly deep, sexy voice, perhaps she heard the same in his, as well.

Still Perry knew she had shared well past her limits today and he wanted to repay in kind. Della's questions— delightfully phrased and born of genuine interest—were inquisitive but not prying. Captivated by this enchantress he also realized something extraordinary—for the first time in his life he wanted to tell someone about himself because he _wanted_ her to understand him.

Warmed by the brandy, and even more by the company, Perry Mason stood and moved behind her chair. Slightly nonplussed, Della inclined her head towards him over her shoulder too nervous to look at him and in one graceful movement rose, stepped onto the dance floor and twirled into his arms. Elegantly Perry stepped into the dance, one hand on the small of her back, the other over her fingers.

From the time he was 15 years old and fell in love with Myrna Loy as Nora Charles, Perry knew that finding his own Nora was going to be an impossible feat. By 32 he had given up. Gorgeous, sexy, smart women who were also your pal, they didn't come around often. Now here she was. As Perry deftly guided her around the floor, Ella Fitzgerald sang, "The Way You Look Tonight" and he couldn't help but think of her with every phrase. "Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm, and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you; and the way you look tonight."

"You're very smooth, Counselor," Della Street wasn't smiling as she said that and shadows visited the plains of Perry's face.

Of course she hadn't meant that harshly. But the feelings that had been building between them all day now, at 1:30 in the morning, had her very confused. Their chemistry was profound; their affection deep, instantaneous and genuine. Noticing the flicker of fear in his eyes, Della moved in closer to assure him, sliding her left hand from his shoulder to the much more familiar space on his collarbone. It worked and his face immediately brightened.

When the valet brought the car around Perry voiced his concern about keeping the top down now that it was so much cooler, "Don't you dare put that up!" she said, "I'm a rag top girl; always have been, always will be."

Beaming Perry tucked his suit jacket over her lap. "I'll keep the heater on and stay closer to the middle."

Della Street pursed her lips and gave him an impish grin, "I can do that."

When they pulled up outside her apartment building he jumped out to get her door then walked her inside. "So tomorrow?" asked Miss Street.

"It's after 3, Miss Street. I won't feel right until I know that you are safely ensconced with the door locked."

"Oh, brother," she rolled her eyes but was enjoying his courtly behavior. They rode the elevator in silence the same look gracing their faces, both realizing that their protracted day was the best "date" either one of them had ever been on.

Della handed him her key and as Perry leaned in to unlock her door they were shoulder-to-shoulder, a heat passing between them that was appreciable.

"I can take a taxi tomorrow, you know? Especially if it's out-of-the-way; you could live in Pasadena for all I know," Della leaned in, concerned, their faces inches apart.

Perry, also serious now, disabused her of that notion, "Della… I live five minutes from you; and that's five in traffic. I'll be here, at 7."

"Is that 7 in the morning to take me to work," Della hesitated but there was no sense in denying it, was there? "Or is that 7 at night to take me out? Because it's got to be one way or the other, Counselor." Della considered her gloves.

Perry was dumbstruck. She had said it. He had _felt_ it but she had said it. In an embarrassingly long pause, so long in fact that Della began to shift on her heels he seriously considered what she was saying.

"I'll be here in the morning," he said extremely slowly. "But I want you to know that I reserve the right to change that decision in the future; perhaps even the very near future, Miss Street."

"You're the boss," Della Street smiled softly at Perry Mason. "Thanks for a lovely dinner," when she brushed her delicate hand over his sleeve he felt a shiver up his neck.

Perry moved briskly out to his car lighting a cigarette on the fly. Less than half a block had passed when he changed his mind, made a U-turn and parked across the street from her apartment. Watching her lithe figure move in front of her windows he flipped on the radio and smoked while trying to figure out what the Hell had happened today.

Every few minutes Della glanced out the window to see if he was still sitting there in his car. Both the smoke from his cigarette and the music from his radio, on the same station as her own of course, wafted up to her window. Once she had changed Della settled into the window seat, hidden by her sheer, white curtains, to stare at the handsome, enigmatic man—a fiery ember in the distance. What was he thinking out there and what exactly she had gotten herself into?

When Dinah Washington began to sing Della she felt a longing and, questioned if it was affecting him the same way.

"_I will think of you until sunrise, no one else will do as the time flies. _

_I toss from side to side no longer can I sleep. _

_You're running through my mind what good is counting sheep. _

_I can hardly wait until sunrise. So be there and fair like the blue skies._

_Tomorrow when the moon falls, the sun calls me to you until then until sunrise with you."_

When she walked out to his car less than four hours later neither looked worse for their late, and ultimately sleepless, night. Perry couldn't sit still, although he knew he was tired, and was standing against the car door smoking as he waited for her.

As Della Street walked towards him she was even more beautiful than he recalled and that was saying something. In an instant he was pondering the wisdom of his decision a few hours before. Then he remembered back to their time in the office—back to, yes, it already seemed long ago—and the mysterious, exquisite way they worked together. Instinctively, Perry knew that their mutual devotion to work, _that very thing, _was part of the magic they felt. No, he made the right choice. The rest would come later.

"Morning…" Della slid her sunglasses on and gave him a big smile.

"Good Morning," Perry held the door for her, helping her into his car by the elbow and lifting her jacket before he shut the door.

Later it occurred to him that he was not at all surprised by the thermos in the crook of her arm. Perry sipped at each light; Della holding the cup in between while he drove.

Perry Mason was a happy man; after all he loved a good metaphor almost as much as a good cup of coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Monday, December 4**__**th**__**, 1952**_

"This, my friend is the last one." A resolute Paul Drake threw a folder on Mason's desk.

"I won't do this anymore. I get the same results each time and frankly it's a little depressing." He lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of his friend's desk, as he always did when he was trying for particularly collegial or particularly threatening.

"On top of which," he took a long drag and looked out the window then looked square into those frightening eyes used so often to such great effect. "I like the girl. She's my friend. She brings me soup and Kleenex when I'm sick. Do you know what that kind of thing means to a guy like me? I feel like Hell spying on her. In fact, I haven't done it myself in more than 8 months."

"What?" Mason screamed so loud it sent Della into his office.

"God, what's wrong Perry?" Della was well known to startle easily without nearly so much provocation. It had become a bit of an office joke used to tease her mercilessly and making her, as she pointed out many times though no one seemed to listen, considerably more jumpy.

"I'm fine Della…" Della now with one foot out and a hand on her hip, cocked her head sideways and looked curiously at Paul before rolling her eyes and closing the door behind her.

"Smooth, Counselor…" smirked, Paul. "Very smooth…"

"Listen I thought I told you that I wanted only you for this detail." Mason was shaken but as his old friend knew well, when he got shaken it came out angry.

"Oh, you only want your old pal invading your girl's privacy, that it? Well, tough luck buster. I'm done and the agency is done. Now reach down into your trousers and root around down there until you find them because frankly, I'm embarrassed for you."

"She's not my girl," Perry said the sound of defeat in his voice was deafening.

"That's your mistake, pal," Paul said sitting on the edge of Perry's desk.

"She's got several stories of being chased around the desk—nearly raped last time. This job is important to her, she loves it and I can't do what I do without her," Perry stated matter-of-factly. "But the rags are already full of innuendo about us. I won't make her a cliché and I won't be one either."

Unaccustomed to such openness on the part of his friend, Paul subdued his urge to tease and, instead offered some rare advice. "You know, it's not like you're married. There is nothing _wrong _with you two getting together. People meet at work every day, Perry. Hell where do you think all of the little lawyers and secretaries come from? This is 1950 not 1930."

"There's a possibility that I'm alone in this. I guess. I have yet to correctly judge any woman for whom I have cared."

Stubbing out his third cigarette Paul just shook his head. "Why don't you peruse the last 2 ½ years of reports I've given you, all of which say the same damn thing, by the way: dinner with young man, went home alone. Then add up all of the hours she has spent working either in this joint or out of it, making this practice what it is, protecting and caring for you—you see that, right? You see how she takes care of you when you're tried or sick or overworked?"

Perry could only look up at him.

"Well if all of that doesn't convince you that that lovely woman belongs to you and you alone…watch her sometime. Watch her when she's watching you do your magic in court. The pride, and lust, it's a little sickening.

Catch her looking at you sometime when she thinks no one's looking at her. If that particular girl looked at me in that particular way, wild horses couldn't keep me away, let alone an old Hollywood battle axe like Hedda Hopper."

They were silent for a while as Paul stubbed out his last cigarette, "But whatever you decide, I have decided no more spying on our girl. And don't let me catch you putting someone else on her. I may be only slightly bigger than you, chum, but I've been out on the streets not tucked up in a dainty office."

"Thanks, Paul…" Drake, who didn't realize Perry Mason could have such a small voice, gave him a sympathetic smile and ducked out the back door.

"What's wrong?" She had snuck quietly in and was standing by his side her lovely hand on his shoulder but he didn't move. "You look like Hell. What happened? Not something else with this insane case because this may be getting to be too much. I'm worried…"

Perry grabbed her hand, "Headache, that's all."

Della's eyes were creased with worry. "Yes, from this case. I'm going to order you food, which you are going to eat. Got it, Counselor? But first let's see…"

Della glided over to the console and returned with aspirin and a cup of coffee. Pouring a glass of water from the carafe on his desk she handed him the aspirin which tumbled from her cool palm into his large feverish paw. Perry couldn't believe how tender her smile was. When she moved behind him to massage his shoulders and temples, her sweater pressed to his back, he seriously worried he might swoon.

The small, strong fingertips made ever widening circles on his temples then worked their way back and forth over his brow. A shiver went up his neck, which he was quite sure she felt as her fingers worked their way from the back of his skull down. When massaging him like this her strength always amazed him. Suddenly there was the sweater again, as she leaned in to work over his shoulders.

When she at last finished Perry smiled and patted her hand, then moved to one of the couches to stretch out and review a new stack of work she had brought. Usually he took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt at this point so he could "breathe;" Della's favorite look. But he didn't do it this evening.

Without thinking Della walked over to him and, crouching down, started to undo his tie with a single raised eyebrow. Perry couldn't hide his surprise, which she chose to ignore, her cool fingers brushing against his cheek and chin as she undid the knot. Draping the tie over her lap she undid the first two buttons of his shirt and started to stand when he grabbed her wrist, holding up three fingers and giving her an admonishing stare. Lips pursed she leaned down to undo the third button then went to his desk.

Tonight he looked like a little boy, tired, glassy-eyed and wan. When he was like this—so drained from grinding away for yet another client—she wanted to press his head to her, and kiss his brow smoothing his wayward locks of silky black hair. But that would never happen. Della Street had set her boundaries so clear and so high, not even the great Perry Mason could break through even if that _was_ what he wanted.

But what did she want? When she came to work for him in 1949 the world seemed more open than it was now. During the war and just after times were high but now people were hunkering down in family units, trying to keep themselves safe. Rosie the Riveter and her kind lost their jobs to returning veterans; women were expected to stay home and raise upstanding Americans not far from their fall-out shelters. That was not what Della Street wanted; at least not, yet.

Still, there was this complication—this man. The moment they met there was a primordial connection, which had grown each day into something about which you only dreamed. During these 2 ½ _nearly_ perfect years they had teased and cajoled, supported and sustained one another, the best of friends and of colleagues. Whenever they went out he held her possessively by the arm, when they danced, which was often, they seemed to fit against one another perfectly.

Della knew that they were holding something much deeper at bay, though. How much longer could they hold out without resentment building up on one side or the other? They knew there were dates but out of respect for each other they set limits without ever speaking of it; no one ever telephoned for either of them at the office and certainly never met them there. After all, Perry Mason was very much a man and she didn't think that he had been chaste. Not that it was something she wanted to spend much time thinking about. What, Della wondered, did he think _she_ was doing?

Was Paul right? Perry wondered. Pretending to look intently at his book he thought he could feel her eyes on him. Leaving his head resting on his fist he slowly shifted his eyes to look at her. There it was; with her head tilted, lips slightly parted she was staring at him her eyes shimmering with love. How could he have not caught this even once over the years? Della Street was just as in love with him as he was with her so her hesitancy was…what…about appearances? When she realized with a start that he was staring back at her she just shook her curls and blushed, pursing her lips in a smile that said, "Yeah. You got me."

Then Della Street elegantly lifted the phone to order their dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

_**December 20, 1952**_

Perry looked up at where Della was sitting on the top of the ladder in the law library.

"Oh, my, Counselor!" Perry Mason was absolutely devastating, modeling her favorite tuxedo, playing up the natty cumber bund and matching bow tie that she had had made for him in the Mason family tartan. As luck would have it a festive but sophisticated deep red and forest green.

"Thank you for this," he said tweaking his tie. "It is as usual Miss Street, a gift that is beautiful, useful, thoughtful and thought-provoking, not unlike the giver."

"Flatterer, girls just love being called 'useful,'" Della laughed at his mock hurt. "Seriously, you'd better be careful they don't sign you up for the pictures tonight. You look absolutely fetching."

Della had wondered why he hadn't invited her to annual California Bar Association Christmas Ball, as he had the last two years. But with Perry there was always a reason, likely an obligation to someone. There was a lulu of a dress hanging in her closet that she bought at a sample sale just in case. Instead she would wear it to the New Year's benefit he had asked her to attend with him.

Perry suddenly felt depressed that Della wasn't going to be with him and, worse, that his former girlfriend Laura Robertson had roped him into going with her tonight. What hold she still had on him he couldn't quite define but it made him distinctly unhappy to think about. All of his friends knew, though, that when you had a favor to ask, Perry Mason was the friend you asked and Laura had asked to meet certain very important acquaintances of his to make connections for her new firm. Considering his own agenda, though, Perry didn't feel he that he had room to complain.

Tonight he was going to "break" Della Street like she was a murderer on the stand trying to hide from him and Laura was the best woman for the job; although Perry was beginning to feel horrible about it. They had an unspoken rule between them, not even a hint of a date with anyone else. Della's dates had been chaste, mostly limited to boys or men set on her by her family back home as Perry had learned from Paul.

Since meeting Della all other women paled to Perry. When he did _need _to "date," he kept it to late dinners and late night visits to the girls' apartments. Tonight, however, he needed a little help laying his cards on the table with his secretary.

"I'm off; don't stay here too late okay? I don't like the idea of you here alone." Perry dropped off as they heard the outer door. "See? Lock that when I go."

Perry plucked her off the ladder, his hands under her arms their faces close and colognes intermingling Feeling someone behind him he set Della down protectively behind him, then turned to see Laura standing there draped in fur and looking like a movie star.

"Why, Perry, what an unfortunate way to greet your girlfriend."

Della felt as if she were going to pass out. Of course he had a girlfriend what had she been thinking all of this time; how could she have been so stupid. The flirtations that never went anywhere his sweetness which could now even be viewed as condescending if she weren't being generous, it was all so clear.

Although probably her age this girl, this woman, was so far out of her class it was laughable. Striking, tall and lithe with similar coloring and features to Della, "Laura" wreaked of old money, servants and private stables. Covered in the jewels of a much older woman she wore her sleeveless cream gown with gold overlay—couture Givenchy, Della recognized from last month's Vogue—regally. Della tried gamely to slip on her shoes without steadying herself on Perry but fell against him lightly.

"Why aren't you sweet," oozed Laura in Della's general direction.

"How do you do? I'm Della Street, it's a pleasure to meet you," Della extended her hand.

"Perry said he had a wonderful new girl who revolutionized the office. Would that be you?"

"I hope so," Della said smiling broadly, hoping that she was fooling everyone else in the room.

"Well a good secretary is simply impossible to find; can't anyone spell anymore?" Laura feigned exasperation. "If my Perry ever treats you badly you just come to me. My firm could always use a good girl."

When he decided to make Della jealous Perry forgot how evil Laura could be if she felt threatened and Della Street, inadvertently, would threaten any woman. Now looking at Della's sweet face—no anger, no judgment, just hurt—he realized what a cruel, stupid mistake he had made.

"Della," Perry took her upper arm firmly, pulling her close to him, "This is Laura Robertson since she seems to have forgotten her manners." Laura looked stung.

"Laura is an old friend and my date _this evening_," he emphasized the last two words very carefully.

Laura knew to take a fallback position after that remark. "I haven't seen your new offices… perhaps a tour?"

"We should be going," Perry said brusquely.

"Oh well, next time. See you soon, Della, dear."

"I'll look forward to it," Della lied.

There was so much work but suddenly all Della wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed; not that her apartment really felt like home. This office was home mostly because that was where she and Perry were together. They walked around in stockings or socks, spent all but about eight hours a day there eating most of their meals, smoking most of their cigarettes and taking all of their naps in these few rooms.

Della picked up the phone and ordered food, including dinner for Perry on the odd chance he came back to the office. He never could eat at these things. Horror grabbed at her—the note! After they returned from a holiday lunch where she had had two glasses of champagne—which normally wouldn't have affected her except that this was the middle of the day—Della got the bright idea of dropping a little note in Perry's tux pocket for him to find later. Cringing, she recalled the flirty, slightly looped way she was feeling when she wrote it.

"P. Bring me back some mistletoe. D." Well, there was nothing to be done now but hope he didn't see it then sneak it back out of his pocket in the future. Knowing she would go crazy otherwise she tried hard to put it out of her mind; there was plenty else about which to worry.

Working through her dinner, Della finished the first several tasks on her list then went back to do further research for this damn case. This was, she thought, a no-win situation. There was no doubt in her mind that she was in love with Perry Mason and had been since that first day; hard as she tried to ignore it for their sakes, as well as her reputation and his business. Now if this woman really was his lover, Della was going to have to suffer in silence.

There was an even greater problem, though. What if Laura wasn't his lover and Perry loved her, too, as she had suspected until tonight? How could they be together and maintain any propriety? Maybe this Laura was for the best. People already talked although they had only friendship. Or, maybe other people saw what they felt even when they couldn't express it to one another. Her confusion was mind boggling in its depths, making her think seriously about the single malt scotch in the console behind Perry's desk.

Once safely back up on the ladder Della finally let the tears go. That's how Perry found her when he came back for his car at midnight, just curled up on the top step of the mahogany ladder, fast asleep, her exquisite legs almost completely exposed thanks to a wayward skirt. The mascara smudges under her eyes bothered him greatly—Laura had brutalized her.

Although well after midnight, Perry had known that she would still be here. When he passed her desk he saw her work masterfully completed, and now next to her on the ladder was a stack of notes she had taken for this annoying, convoluted case they all hated.

Perry went back to his office to change out of the tux hanging it neatly and meticulously replacing the beautiful cumber bund and tie in their box. Passing his desk on his way back to her, he smiled seeing dinner there for him. After an evening with the divine but rapacious, striving Laura Robertson he appreciated Della even more.

No, not "appreciated;" he loved her and it was time to take action instead of mooning around like a lovesick boy dipping an innocent, little girl's pig tale in the ink well.

Perry, in his suit jacket with his tie trailing out of his pocket and his hair rumpled from changing his clothes, put his hands on the railing of the ladder and a foot on the first step. His weight on the stairs woke her with a start but he was too quick, reaching under her and sweeping her up into his arms. Turning to take her down she tried to break free until he shook her gently.

"Stop it or we'll both fall."

"I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate this," Della met him chin-to-chin.

"Della, how often are we apart, you and I?" She had to admit she hadn't considered that and let her eyebrows speak for her.

"Exactly. We dated a few years ago and she was lousy at it—obviously," Perry shook his head. "At one time I did believe that I loved her but with some distance I realized I got out just in time."

"Perry…how did she come to be here… your office? We've never… we've purposely kept each other in the dark about any … dalliances we've had." Della scrutinized Perry with the same eyes he used when cross examining.

"Why now? Why this night? What _that_ particular woman?" Della's voice was flinty.

"You have a suspicious mind, Della Street," Perry said without meeting her gaze.

"I think perhaps that I'm not suspicious enough. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Is there something you want to ask me?" Perry countered.

"Perry Mason, did you do that on purpose?" Della was incredulous. "Did you purposely hurt me?"

"That was not my intent." Perry was serious.

"Then what was your intent, Mr. Mason, when you set that horrible woman on me?"

"That was unfortunate but you've seen me in court, Della."

"In court, yes, when someone is guilty. But I'm not guilty and I've _never_ known you to be arbitrary and cruel before."

Perry, who had never seen Della truly angry, couldn't avoid the unmitigated hurt in her eyes. "I'm sorry to have hurt you. That wasn't my intent. But you are…a little guilty." Della's eyes went wide.

"You want to put me down now?"

"No Miss Street I do not. You and I have unfinished business," his voice was stern but his face was soft.

"And what would that be Mr. Mason?"

"Stop it, Della." Della shook her head, chin buried in her chest.

In court, especially when he was about to shock the prosecution with a bit of brilliance, or better still when he was about to force the flush murderer out from his or her hiding place, power coursed through the veins of Perry Mason. Now holding Della Street's warm body with its gentle curves cradled against his chest, one arm wrapped protectively around her back and waist, the other on the back of her leg on the sweet spot behind her knee, he felt more _alive_ than he had ever felt in his life. In his arms like this, Della Street was his.

Carrying her into his office he sat on the couch with her on his lap. "I know you're scared and I know why. Do you think that I don't understand?" Perry held her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "How many secretaries do we come across having affairs with the boss? How many young ladies are just pretty things, distractions from unhappy home lives? It's a cliché. I don't want to be part of that cliché either, Della. And what do people think of these young ladies, of secretaries in general unless they're old crones? How often have we been the subject of innuendo in the press already?"

"And that's just from your perspective on the outside, Perry," Della explained softly. "The woman gets judged; not the man."

"You're right. It's a man's world. But you yourself suggested that perhaps it didn't have to be that way and, Della, there is an awful lot here at stake, isn't there?" Perry leaned back against the couch as exhaustion crept over him; the exhaustion of living on the wrong side of this issue for almost three years.

Della stared at him for a long moment, her slim shoulders dropping. Closer to one another now than they had ever been, she fell back against him also tired of fighting to stay apart. Considering Perry's hand as it rested on her thigh, she stroked the long, slender fingers so similar to her own; "his and hers" versions of the same hands.

"There's a lot at stake, isn't there, Della?" But Della was so deep in thought she couldn't answer.

Sitting on his lap like this her body felt an immediacy she didn't recognize and she found herself having to squirm a bit. Suddenly all that she wanted was to feel him on her, against her, in—she stopped her thoughts right there.

Perry stepped in to help her out. "Let's review the facts of the case, Miss Street… Fact one you love your job and you happen to be the best secretary I've ever heard of anyone having so I cannot lose you. Check?"

"Check."

"Fact two, I am very deeply in love with you," sitting up Della searched his enormous blue eyes with her own, the answer right there all along. Perry's eyebrows were raised expectantly and when she rested her head against his cheek he smiled broadly.

"Check?"

"Check." she swallowed hard.

"Fact three, you are…"

"Just as in love with you as you are with me, Counselor, probably more so…"

She placed her fingers against his lips in time to feel him whisper, "Thank you."

"Check," she chuckled in her sexy voice as he nuzzled her ear kissing the snowy flesh of her neck.

"Fact four, you want to keep this private; as private as we possibly can. Not only do I understand, I agree for all of the reasons we have both figured out on our own that we need not detail right now. So we tell no one, even friends. But is it wise or fair to leave Paul in the dark?

"I don't think we should declare it or hide it; if he figures it out, he figures it out. Or should I say 'when' he figures it out…"

"Check. But what this means, Miss Street, is that we never show affection in the office ever again. This moment we are having now …"

"Is never, ever to be repeated Perry Mason. Even after hours. Do you understand? There will be no displays of affection in public. Now," she leaned in against him, curling her arms around his neck and pressing her body into his to emphasize the sincerity of the message she was about to deliver. "You may have _whatever_ you want anywhere else…"

"_Whatever_ I want?" he raised his eyebrows.

"_Whatever_ you want anywhere else," her voice dropped an octave as she growled the sentence again in his ear. "But at work and in public we are as we've always been—secretary and boss. Check?"

"Check."

"You do understand?"

"Yes, Miss Street."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Absolutely, Miss Street."

"Really? Then why are we still sitting here in the office, Mr. Mason?"

Perry pushed her off his lap, jumping up and pulling her off the couch after him, Della roared with laughter as he started grabbing things, his dinner, their briefcases, her coat, driving them toward the door.

"Perry, the lights! My shoes!' Slapping a hand on the light switch Perry threw Della over his shoulder and had her barefoot, in the car and on the road so fast they were a blur. Once the Brent Building was behind them Perry pulled over by an enormous Christmas tree on the edge of the square under a streetlamp.

Della, who had just snuggled in next to Perry, sat back up. "What's wrong? Did we leave in such a hurry that we accidentally stole someone else's car, Counselor?"

Reaching into his suit pocket he pulled out a tiny bundle wrapped in tissue and handed it to her. "I believe that you requested this, miss."

Della unwrapped the tissue gasping when she saw what was inside. Tears filling her lower lids she held the sprig of mistletoe over his head. Taking her in his arms Perry stroked her cheek down to her neck with the back of his hand, studying her sparkling eyes under the lamplight for many moments. He wanted to remember every second of this first kiss, knowing that in the years ahead it might be the memory of this very kiss that rescued them in dark times; the kiss they might recall with love hopefully 50 or more years in the future as they sat somewhere contemplating the water.

Drawing a slender finger across her brow, his thumb traced its way down her nose and across her nearly perfect cupid's bow. As she had been longing to do for several years, Della finally threaded her fingers through his dark, wavy hair and availed herself of the extravagant luxury of studying his handsome face and lapis eyes as closely as she wanted for as long as she wanted.

"Perry Mason you really are my life. I have loved you so…" she inhaled sharply, a slight sob.

"Miss Street," he whispered into her lips just before he kissed her, "I will love you forever."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Saturday, December 21**__**st**__**, 2002**_

What had she been doing in the bedroom all of this time? The sun was preparing to set on Malibu, and the champagne she had requested was losing its bubbles.

"Della!" he bellowed as only he could. "For god's sake sweetheart, whatever it is—you can't find it!"

"A lot you know. I found it," she chuckled in a voice that had only gotten lower and sexier these last 53-plus years.

Perry who had been sitting back relaxing on the deck, stood up and held her chair for her when she walked through the sliders. He would have done so anyway, as a matter of course, but tonight she took his breath away she looked so lovely. Wearing a cashmere sweater set with a straight linen skirt, and those damn heels all in her signature pale pink, she was radiant.

"Well, this is worth the wait young lady," it made Della smile that he was still calling her that at 80.

"Young lady…"

"You never did understand how much I love you. When I look at you I see the girl who walked into my office in May 1949; especially when you wear pink. I guess I always will."

"Oh, I know, dear, you still look like the same boy to me, too. Boy…" Della shook her head, smiling.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to walk up the beach for a bowl of clam chowder later but you have something else in mind, don't you miss?" Perry asked. Ever since a successful knee replacement fixed a knee that had tortured him for 30 years he wanted to walk everywhere, especially on the beach, and had subsequently lost nearly 100 pounds.

"I most certainly do," there was a gleam in her eye and her lips were pursed in that same sassy, sexy smile.

"Am I up to it?" Perry laughed, although they were both in good health he was, after all, 85. Not that age had dimmed his ardor all that much, as Della had noted on numerous occasions.

"I have an anniversary repast planned for you that is extravagant in every sense of the word, my love. Beluga caviar with crème frâiche on blinis; Fois Gras and Mousse Truffée on toasted French Bread with cornichons and," Della tilted her head slightly as Perry's eyes widened, "Your favorite triple crème cheeses…"

"I get to have you _and_ cheese today? I hope my cardiologist is on call." They both started laughing.

"Don't worry he is, I checked first." Perry pulled Della over to his lap so he could hold her while they watched the last pink and orange shards dip below the horizon. Once it was down Della looked into his eyes, stroking his beard completely content. When Perry tried to kiss her, however, she dodged away giving him a little wink.

"Shall we then?" Perry took her elbow and guided her inside flipping on the stereo on their way to the kitchen.

Della lit the candles and Perry opened a fresh bottle of champagne. She took the French bread and blinis from the oven, arranging the food while he cut the bread into thin diagonal slices. Eating in silence they touched often, reaching for each other's hands, Della stroking his beard or putting a hand on his chest, Perry feeding her a morsel or kissing her fingers.

"What's for dessert?"

"Me," she purred, making that "e" last a lifetime. "Then should you wish it your favorite brandy, which I have managed to procure at great expense and logistical magic and later some of that very good bouche du noel the kids brought the night before last." Paul, Jr.'s children were as their grandchildren.

"Brandy?" Perry smiled; nothing in the world pleased him as much as Della Street wooing him.

"Of course…" Della's smile was as full of sin tonight as it was when she was 30.

"That thing was pretty good for a class project; hope they make another for Christmas Eve. You know, we used to make maps out of macaroni for class projects not create French pastry. By the way, when are they arriving?" Perry then looked up and with a big smile asked, "And leaving?"

"Well…granddad…" Della came over and stood between his legs.

"What?" Perry asked sternly.

"The twins have been begging to have Christmas here with us."

"But Della, that's all of them not just a sleep over for the girls!"

"Dear we've got four bedrooms _and_ the nursery you insisted on! Anyway, the girls want to 'camp out'…in our room…" Perry started to complain but Della stopped him. "If granddad wasn't quite so engaging with giant sheet tents and his ghost stories and, I'm told, toasting marshmallows in our bedroom fireplace… By the way when exactly did you do _that_?" asked Della with her hand on her hip.

A sheepish Perry cleared his throat, "A couple of weeks back; you went off to the store and when you leave they get very, very cranky. This, as you no doubt know, makes me very, very cranky." Della just nodded and laughed her lovely laugh.

"So, Peri and Della will stay with us in our room, little Paul and the baby will be in the nursery and Paul and Kelly can stay in the downstairs master."

"But that means if anyone starts crying _we_ have to fix it?"

"_We_, dear, and 'fix it'?"

"I don't like you leaving my bed." Della leaned down and stroked his grumpy face.

"You haven't had enough of me, yet?"

"I'm just getting started, Della. I've only loved you for 53 years. Probably seems like a lot longer to you."

"Sometimes it does my one and only love, sometimes it truly does."

"You do know if you hadn't agreed I would have known that you were lying?"

"Do you ever ask a question to which you do not already know the answer, Mr. Mason?"

That long ago question, which never failed to make him feel young. "What do you think?" Della just pursed her lips.

"Anyway there's a lot to do before then and we're in court Monday and Tuesday."

"We've got tomorrow…"

"No, Counselor, you're going to need to recuperate tomorrow," Della down shifted from her business voice back to her purr, which always meant good things ahead. Pulling him up from the bar chair she curled around him, letting him lead her around the kitchen. Tucking her head under his shoulder, he pulled her fingers up to kiss them slowly then pulled her hand into him.

"I remember how much I wanted to do that, that first night we danced; hold you closer, kiss your beautiful fingers."

"The night you hired me," Della laughed sarcastically. "All my big talk in our interview…"

"That wasn't an interview, sweetheart. You were already hired." Perry laughed.

"Yes but all my big talk about the attorneys I worked for in the past only being interested in my physical attributes and then I go and…" Perry cut her off.

"Della Street that was 53 years ago do I still have to re-assure you? You were hired for one reason only," Perry was unyielding now. "You were, and remain, the best legal secretary I've ever known and one of the best researchers-slash-detectives I've ever known. Della don't ever doubt this, the only reason I have the name I have today is because of you and, to a much lesser but still important extent, Paul."

Della freed her hand to stroke his cheek. She had no doubt that he meant exactly what he said.

"Della…is that what…took you so long?"

Della looked out at the water. "Yes. Yes it is. But also, Perry, I was scared of you, scared of what I felt for you, scared of the passion we had for each other before we even did anything about it! It scares me still… oh…every now and then… I'll get absolutely petrified."

Perry knew what she was thinking without either of them saying a word. They couldn't live forever and, inevitably, one of them had to go first. And they _both_ wanted to be the one.

"And don't forget, it meant 'living in sin,' for me and I wasn't really that kind of girl," Della chuckled a bit ruefully. "But marriage wasn't for you and I knew it. At least not then, not when we were young, even middle-aged, and there was such constant scrutiny from the media, so much work and so little time. And I never wanted to be a housewife."

Perry stroked her back surprised, and yet not, decades later at the age of 80, Della was still thinking about these things. "What if I asked you to marry me now?"

"Oh no," Della shook her head. "That means we somehow negate these last 53 years. No my love we are what we are now…for better or worse," Della smiled up at him.

Perry found he couldn't let go of her tonight. Through the years he had spoiled her with things, given her the world, interesting work and freedom to be her own person. But he knew that he hadn't really done right by her. In an odd twist of fate, it was his best friend who had given her the child and the grandchildren she had always wanted.

Della hummed lightly against his chest.

"You don't sing anymore," Perry said wistfully. "You had such a wonderful voice."

***Della rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Oh, honey, I never had a good voice—too many cigarettes—you just liked it because it was deep, I knew all of the songs you loved and you thought I looked sexy in the red wig."

***"Did you ever; made your eyes green and your freckles pop." Della just laughed at him looking off into the distance where his memory lurked. "Sing to me, Miss Street…I'm sorry, Miss Williams."

"You're mad!" Della looked up at him through her lashes, flirting. "Besides at this point there isn't a key low enough."

"C'mon baby," Perry growled in her ear, his hot breath making her shiver just as it had for more than five decades.

"_You_, Perry Mason, are a dirty old man," Della's eyes twinkled as she walked the fingers of her right hand up his chest. They were still dancing as she slid her body against him seductively. "Love for Sale? I recall what that used to do to you."

Perry shook his head. "You know what I want to hear…"

"I take it back," Della's face was serious now as she watched him click the remote through the CD tray until he found what he wanted. "You are a true romantic. The most romantic man I've ever known."

As Miles Davis starting blowing, Della leaned into Perry's ear.

_Living for you is easy living  
It's easy to live when you're in love  
And I'm so in love  
There is nothing in life but you_

I never regret the years that I'm giving  
They're easy to give when you're in love  
I'm happy to do whatever I do for you

For you maybe I'm a fool  
But it's fun  
People say you rule me with one wave of your hand  
Darling, it's grand  
They just don't understand

Living for you is easy living  
It's easy to live when you're in love  
_And I'm so in love  
There's nothing in life but you_

Tickling the back of his neck with her fingers he tried to bring her down into a kiss but she resisted. So, instead he slid his hands under her sweater, caressing her soft belly then running his fingers over her bra and up to her shoulders. Trying to kiss her again she ducked away from him, leaving him holding her sweaters.

"Alright, miss, what gives," but Della was walking upstairs now. By the time he got there she was naked. It was amazing how good she still looked, not a moment over 60, even with her partially white hair, which he loved. Often he wished he looked as good for her but was feeling a bit better about himself since the weight loss. Undressing him slowly Della seemed perfectly happy with the man he was just as she always had faults and all. And as Perry Mason was the first to admit, his faults were as oversized as the rest of him; he knew that he had not been easy to love emotionally or physically.

When he went to kiss her again, she turned and slid into bed pulling him in behind her. Snuggled down facing each other on their sides, Della reached a hand above to the book shelf and pulled down the sprig of mistletoe he had brought her exactly 50 years ago.

"Is that really the same piece of mistletoe," Perry queried somewhat incredulous. "Or is it like when a child's hamster dies and they just keep replacing it with a similar-looking rodent?"

Della started laughing hard. "No, dear, this is the actual piece you brought me. I promise you that if you hold this in your hand you will find yourself back in that car as if no time had passed at all."

Perry took it from her, careful not to hurt it in any way. With his other hand he cupped her cheek and brought her in close. "Della, let's do it all again—the good _and_ the bad—it went so fast. If only we could wake up tomorrow morning to May 4th, 1949, I could have another 53 years with you."

"We can't be greedy, my love. We've been the most fortunate couple on Earth. No one has loved the way we have, Perry, no one." With her thumbs she brushed away the tears that had started down his cheeks; she was the only person who had ever seen those tears and that deep, unexpected but important piece of him meant everything to her.

"Even with eight very hard years…" he swallowed hard.

"You know what Shakespeare said you've quoted it often enough."

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

"From the moment you came into my life, there was never a moment that I wasn't in love with you; never, ever another man in my life."

Perry's heart ached as soon as she said it, wishing he could say the same thing to her. "From the moment you came into my life," Perry took a long pause. "There was never a moment that I wasn't in love with you..." Della leaned in and kissed him tenderly to cut him off.

"We did pretty well, didn't we?" She asked when she finally pulled away.

"Only because of you, Miss Street, only because of you; you have been a generous, patient, stalwart girl," he stroked her cheek, kissing her brow. "Tell me."

"Tell you what, my love?"

"Tell me that you know that I've never loved anyone even close to the way I've loved you."

"I do know, Perry. Why do you think I always forgave? Because I've always known how very much you love me and how very much it's scared you."

"Della…" Perry snuck a few feathery kisses on her lips until he heard her draw in a deep breath and sigh. "That may be the best thing you've ever said to me."

Taking the mistletoe back she held it aloft just as she had 50 years ago. Perry took her in his arms remembering every detail, every second of the first kiss, just as he promised himself he would, while also committing every second of this kiss to his memory. When he saw her tears Perry knew Della was doing the same thing.

"Perry Mason you really are my life," she looked at him with a love few people ever have the privilege of seeing in another's eyes. "I have loved you so…"

"Miss Street," he whispered into her lips just before he kissed her, knowing he would not exist at all if it weren't for her. "I will love you forever."

***NOTE: Am working on a forthcoming fan fiction about what Perry's referring to, The Case of the Tender Torch Singer

End Note: This may or may not be complete. I've yet to decide for sure.


End file.
